He said to come, and so I did – it was a simple
decision. My heart was already set, my
mind too. If he asked, I would go. And he asked, so I went. I felt about as calm as I had in a long
while, things weren’t necessarily any better than they had ever been, and on
some level I still distrusted his motives, or at least didn’t understand them;
still, just to spend a weekend with him would be enough to live off for a
while, and the anticipation helped me relax in the two or three days in between
his invitation and my visiting.
So, I came out of the station and there he was, across the
central reservation, wrapped up in a big blue scarf against the brisk winter
south-westerly. I had an urge to run
across the lanes of Saturday morning traffic then and there. But mother always told me, and I’ve since
learned, in a metaphorical sense if you play in the road, you get run
down. It isn’t like in the movies where vehicles
grind to halt, and ex-lovers race across car bonnets to meet each other in a
freeze-frame embrace. In real life you’d
both end up as raspberry jam, another RTA statistic.
After a short pause, I brushed the hair from my eyes, and
resolved to go the long way around.
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